


The Ties that Bind

by Nothing_but_the_Rain



Category: Starfighter (Comic)
Genre: Blood, Bondage, M/M, Nonsense, PWP, bad language, bottom!cain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-02-24
Packaged: 2017-12-03 04:44:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/694301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nothing_but_the_Rain/pseuds/Nothing_but_the_Rain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PWP. Bottom!Cain, Top!Deimos, Bondage... what else is there to say.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It started with...

**Author's Note:**

> Somehow this is due to and for asocialconstruct.
> 
> I've borrowed some of SC's fanon/headcanon from the Basic series too. Thanks SC!

Cain woke thrashing in tangled sweat drenched sheets, floundering for something to anchor him in this reality.

His hand gripped reflexively in the cold space next to him. No warm body, no Abel.

Heart pounding he propped himself on one elbow, running a trembling hand through his hair, dragging in a shaky breath.

 _Fucking dream, fucking nightmare;_ at least it would be if it hadn’t been an actual memory of their flight today. _Fuck that was too fucking close._

Checking the time he found he had only been asleep two hours. Abel must still be working.

Cain felt weird, wired; needed a drink, a smoke and a fuck in no particular order.

He headed for the bathroom; after splashing his face with cold water and taking a piss he retrieved his illegally obtained bottle of, _what had that wiry little fighter O’Sullivan called it? Pochine? Poitin? Whatever the fuck it was called it did the job._

Sitting back against the pillows he lit a cigarette and took two deep swallows of the moonshine.

                                    ******************************************

Message:

To:                  Fighter Deimos

From:              Fighter Cain

Subject:         

_Deimos..._

He would know what Cain meant. Would know this was the closest he could get to asking.

The response flashed on the screen of his tablet a few moments later. _Did the little shit never sleep_?

He narrowed his eyes so he could focus enough to read the message. _Damn Pochine worked too well that was for sure,_ he snorted knowing he wouldn’t have sent that message if he was even approaching sober.

Message:

To:                   Fighter Cain

From:              Fighter Deimos

Subject:          Re:

_Third door on the right. Bottom of elevator shaft 80. Access code α735δψ432._

_15 minutes._

 

                                    ********************************************

Cain staggered slightly as he stepped out of the lift, putting his hand on the cold metal of the corridor wall to steady himself.

How his little mouse managed to find all the secrete, secluded places wherever they were he didn’t know, but it was one of the things that made him useful, so Cain let it lie.

He lent back against the wall for a moment while he lit a cigarette and took a deep drag.

Squinting one eye closed he looked down the dimly let corridor, looking for the third door on the right.

He counted the doors out loud, pointing to each in turn with his fag.

Pushing away from the wall he looked back at the closed lift doors, contemplating turning around and going back to bed; sure, like every time before that this was a bad idea, but craving it none the less.

“Fuck it.” He muttered, grinding his fag butt under the heel of his boot.

                                    *************************************************

It had happened one night in basic. They had been drinking and playing cards, like a couple of teenage boys who’d snuck some booze from their Dad’s drinks cabinet. They _were_ a couple of teens. Not Cain and Deimos then, but Twenty-one (or twenty-five, or something, it was hard for Cain to remember exactly as he’d moved through almost every number in the rankings during basic) and Thirty.

They sat too close, cramped in some quite corner that Thirty had found, wreathed in Twenty-one’s smoke, sipping from the bottle of what was meant to be whisky but tasted like meth’s. Getting drunk and giggling. Thirty giggled like a girl, breathy and light. Twenty-one telling tall tales, Thirty listening, so attentive it was almost unnerving.

It had started with a bet on a hand of cards.

It had started with desire and youthful curiosity. It had started with an understanding that, for whatever reason Thirty had his back and he could trust him with it, with his life. So maybe he could trust him with this...

It had started with bravado and knowing that he didn’t lose; wouldn’t lose; couldn’t lose.

It had started with a bet...

That he lost.

Even though he’d been cheating, he still lost. Didn’t know to this day how he’d lost; only that he had. He wondered sometimes (when he ever even bothered to think about these things) if maybe he’d meant too...

                                    ********************************************

Cain punched the access code into the panel by the door, getting it right on the second attempt. The door whooshed open revealing a dark room with some heavy duty storage chests stacked at intervals around it just visible in the light from the corridor. The air smelled a little stale, like the air circulation units hadn’t been on in the room for a while.

He took another swig from the Pochine, “Deimos? You in here myshonok?” He called and stepped over the threshold into the room. “Better not be fucking late...” He muttered. A small part of his drunken brain registered that the lights hadn’t activated.

Then there was a sweet smell and darkness.


	2. Good with knots

Cain woke slowly, the cloyingly sweet smell of chloroform trying to pull him back under again. He frowned, blinking his eyes open, squinting against the dim light; getting his jagged thoughts together as he tried to stand.

And couldn’t.

He frowned and tried to move his arms and found them bound.

_Ah. Right. That._

“Deimos, you fucker, where do you get off using chloroform?” Was what he tired to say, but found it came out as, “Memof mm mffm...” and gave up half way, realising he’d been gagged, settling instead for glaring around him trying to spot the little mouse in the gloom; testing the strength of his bonds.

Deimos had tied him in a kneeling position, knees pressed uncomfortably against the cold embosses on the metal floor. Deimos was good with knots. Cain could feel air moving over his skin, _all_ over his skin. _Naked then_ , he thought, a small shivery thrill stole through him.

Ropes wrapped around his legs binding his thighs tightly to his ankles and lower legs. His arms were bound behind his back, ropes intricately woven about his wrists arms and chest. _Tight, so tight_. He could feel the beginning of the burning ache in his shoulders as they complained of the inconvenience, and drew in a slightly shaky breath thought the fabric gag in his mouth.

He tried leaning forward testing his range of movement, he couldn’t lower his chest to the floor. He pulled harder, throwing his weight forward, only to be tugged back; decided he must be roped to the ceiling, holding him up, keeping him steady.

Then there was the gag. The Little fucker would pay for the gag later.

When nothing happened Cain struggled a bit harder, cursing around the fabric against his tongue, a small kernel of fear growing in the pit of his stomach that maybe Deimos had tied him up and left him, alone and bound.  All he succeeded in doing was making his torso swing from the rope suspending him.

A movement caught from the corner of his eye captured his attention. Cain spun his head following it, unbalancing himself, his weight falling against the rope holding him up, pulling it taut. Cold fingers traced lightly down his neck, making him shiver; a warm tongue traced the edge of his ear, tasting him; inhaling his scent.

He growled part in pleasure and part in annoyance at Deimos’ gentle affectionate touches, whose fingers curled in his hair, running the strands through calming hands. Cain shook his head away, turning his face as far around as possible, glaring at Deimos. “Nnnng.” Was all Cain managed of the curse he was going to spit at Deimos when he saw his flushed cheeks and bitten lip, pupils wide and dark. Swallowing, he struggled again, showing his agitation with the situation. _Fucking get on with it. Now!_ he wanted to shout. Wanted to rip free of the ropes, push Deimos over one of the storage chests, fuck him, pulling his head back by the hair until his back bent like a bow.

Deimos just stepped back, smiling his little coy smile, hair hanging over one eye. Like he was shy or sweet or innocent. Watching him struggle, watching him hang and fight and wind himself up, letting him get angry and knowing there was nothing Cain could do about it. Deimos watched him, silent and flushed and aroused.

Cain saw the silver flash of the knife in the gloom, like the iridescence of silver scales glinting in the dark waters of a lake, before he felt the cold trail its sharp tip left as it wended its way over the exposed skin of his lower back. He hissed as it dug a bit too hard over one hip, heat flooding the area, waves of pleasure and pain ebbing through him, feeling the wet slip of the bead of blood that rolled from the wound.

Heard and felt Deimos’ little pleased huff of breath at his reaction.

Then the cold of the blade was gone, replaced by small hard teeth grazing the skin over his hips and buttocks. Making him shudder and moan into the gag. Alternating light and hard bites, working down over his buttocks, making and teasing, reaching their intended destination. The heat of Deimos’ tongue intense against the cooler skin around his hole. He growled again, wishing he didn’t have the fucking gag on so he could tell the little mouse to get the fuck on with it, fuck him with his tongue and stop with this teasing bullshit.

Cain arched his back, demanding more, more contact, just more. Deimos moved lower instead, ignoring Cain’s obvious curse. Lapping and nipping at the sensitive skin of his perineum, watching Cain’s thighs tremble. He sucked each of Cain’s balls into his mouth in turn, gentle yet firm; a bit of downward traction, before relenting and working his way back to the tight ring of muscle and heat, circling it with his tongue, firm and fast then pushing in; a thrill of pleasure at the noise Cain made at that, pleased that he’d done well, been a good little mouse.

Deimos used his hands to spread Cain wider so he could get deeper, hear more of those moans. Loving the way Cain moved on him seeking more. Wanting. Needy. Until Cain jerked away as best he could given his bonds, “mmmmf!” Cain made his irritation clear even gagged. He’d had enough of the prelude, wanted what he’d come for; put himself in this position for.

Deimos knelt behind Cain, panting; he wiped the back of his hand over his mouth and chin, slick with saliva. He gave a breathy little giggle at Cain’s aggravation. He never was patient. When Cain glared at him for this and mumbled something through the gag that sounded distinctly like, _fucker,_ he gave his arse a resounding backhand slap, topped with a soft, soft kiss to the burning skin, as if to say; _remember who wanted this, who called who out of bed in the middle of the night_.

Cain sucked in a ragged breath, really wishing he wasn’t gagged, the fabric was saturated now and sat heavy against his tongue. His muscles ached and burned from the cramped position. Fingers and hands numb. Cock hard and aching to be touched. He wanted Deimos’ hot wet mouth to cover him, wanted to fuck into that wet heat.

He felt rather than saw Deimos move; then silently he was in front of him; slender and naked, lean muscle and dark hair. Too much emotion in his eyes. Making Cain grunt and scowl at him. Slender hands reached out cupping his face, size belying their strength, as they held Cain’s face still while Deimos’ thumbs smoothed over his high, flushed cheek bones, too tender, making Cain’s eye’s narrow in warning. Then they were hooking into the fabric of the gag and pulling it from his mouth to hang around his neck.

Instantly, “You little shit Deimos! What the fuck do you...” The flat of Deimos’ knife pressed to his lips silencing him. Where he kept it when naked was another mystery to Cain, who settled for glaring instead, a fresh wave of arousal washing thorough him.

Deimos licked his lips slowly, contemplating. He angled the knife so the tip pressed into the delicate skin of Cain’s lips, drawing blood – just a bit. Removing the knife he placed the pad of his ring finger against Cain’s lips slowly smearing the blood around them, making them darker, glossier. Cain strained forward towards Deimos, anger forgotten, wanting again. Wanting to taste his little mouse against his tongue.

Long fingers wove into his hair and tugged. He looked up through his lashes, eyes demanding, breathing fast. Deimos moved closer, so the head of his cock brushed against Cain’s lips, smearing the tip red. Cain opened his mouth to flick the tip of his tongue over Deimos’ cock, growling when it was all he could do, wanting more, wanting him filling his mouth. Deimos relented moving closer, pressing into Cain’s mouth. Cain shivered with pleasure, eyelids dropping closed as he tried to move on Deimos’ cock, forgetting Deimos had control. He whimpered softly before he could stop himself. Wanting. Licking, waiting for Deimos to fuck his face, wanting it. He shivered as Deimos’ grip on his hair tightened and he began to thrust into him. The sensation of having his mouth filled with hard heat; feeling so much while the rest of him either burnt or was numb, was intense. He could taste how much his little mouse was enjoying it, the salty tang of him at the back of his tongue; the thought made his own cock twitch, desperate and needy. He moaned around Deimos’ cock as it filled the back of his throat, making him seek for air greedily through his nose, eyes locked on Deimos’ face, watching him bite his lip, hands pulling Cain’s hair now, painful and glorious, blanching the scalp.

And then gone. His mouth empty. Left panting. “Deimos...” He growled. Deimos stepped further away, wagging one finger, _no_. And then Cain felt movement, his eyes went wide with surprise. His knees leaving the metal floor, suspended and swinging slightly a few feet from the ground.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” He demanded.

Deimos didn’t say, instead he demonstrated. Dropping to his knees, head level with Cain’s cock, sheathing the whole of it with his mouth, till his little nose was pressed to Cain’s pubis. “Ahhhh, shit!” Cain groaned, trying to thrust his hips, trying to press himself deeper into to Deimos’ hot throat. Deimos sucked and swallowed, once, twice, feeling Cain tremble then quickly withdrew, wriggling his body under Cain, so he knelt behind him and pushed his tongue inside Cain’s arse, fucking him with it, mewling with his own pleasure at getting to have Cain to himself for a while, to touch with the occasional gentle caress, to see how much he could get away with, all the while knowing that wasn’t what Cain wanted from him.

He added one finger alongside his tongue, Cain trying to fuck back on to him, even harder to do now he wasn’t in contact with the floor. Deimos had to grab the ropes binding his legs with one hand to hold him still, stop him from swinging away from his tongue and his finger. _Fingers_ he thought as he added another. Cain’s body was flushed and sweat slicked, and he had given into releasing the small wanton needy noises he’d been trying to swallow.

Deimos found the sight of Cain like this the second most beautiful thing in his world. The first being the sight of Cain, face flushed and eyes lidded, pounding into him, hand round Deimos’ throat as he came. Deimos’ movement became more frenzied with that thought, that memory.

“D..Deimos’ fu-fucking shit man, just fuck me already.” Cain panted sounding fucked out and irritated at the same time. Making Deimos smile wickedly and want to tease him more. He slowed down with his tongue and withdrew his fingers, reaching forward instead to leisurely stroke his perfect cock with gentle caressing fingers, letting him swing a bit now, to reduce the friction, make him seek more. Make him demanding and wanton. It didn’t take long. It didn’t take much.

“Deimos. Fuck me. Now.” Cain growled. “NOW!” He roared impatience and irritation over taking his arousal. Deimos smiled slyly and nipped at Cain’s perineum; chuckling at the un-masculine yelp it elicited.

Standing Deimos moved away to lower Cain to the floor again, letting him down quickly his knees hitting the floor with a metallic thunk. He slicked his cock with lube, taking a shuddering breath as his hand closed round his heated flesh. Surprised, even after all this time that he got to do this at all.

Cain watched him as best as he could over his shoulder, anticipation and desire making him bit his lip. Impatience making him scowl. “ _Deimos_...” warning now.

Then he was biting his lip and moaning as Deimos pushed into him. And fuck it felt so fucking good, so dangerous, and a small unbidden though surface, _maybe Abel..._ but he pushed that away, pushed it down. Focused instead on the heat and hardness inside him. Still too gentle, too tentative. Did he have to demand, was that what Deimos wanted? Probably; sadistic little fucker. He arched his back trying to get more, deeper.

“Harder.” He growled, “Deimos, fuck me harder.” Not caring now what he sounded like, wanting it, wanting to be pounded ‘til they were both coming. Wanting his release as much for the pleasure of being freed, allowed to move his dead heavy arms and legs again, as for the pleasure of coming.

Deimos thrust into him as hard and fast as he could; wrapping one long fingered hand, so soft for a Fighter, around Cain’s cock. Loving the feel of Cain’s tight arse around his cock and Cain’s cock in his hand. Knowing he was making him feel like this. Sound like this. Making him fuck back on to his cock. He lent forward, licking at the sweat on Cain’s shoulder, licking and biting and thrusting and moaning and...

...and then Cain was coming hot and hard over Deimos’ hand and the cold metal of the floor. Deimos sighed and shuddered as he came, filling Cain, biting his shoulder to stop from saying something he’d pay for later. Breath hitching in his throat. _His Cain._ They stayed like that for several minutes. Deimos’ cheek pressed to Cain’s shoulder, their breathing in time as it settled, as they settled.

“Deimos.” Cain snapped, twitching his shoulder under Deimos’ cheek, “Get the hell off and get these fucking ropes off me.”

Deimos sighed softly letting himself slip fully from Cain, not wanting to leave the heat of having his warm body against him, not knowing when he’d feel it again. Raising his hand to his mouth, he licked the remainder of Cain’s come from his fingers as he walked around to stand before Cain cupping his face in his hands, taking advantage of his lack of freedom and kissed him. Pleased, so pleased, that he responded. Kissing him back deep and hard. Cain tasting himself on Deimos’ tongue, before pulling his mouth away, glaring at him, “Un-fucking-tie me.”

Deimos unhooked him from the rope attached to the ceiling first. Then worked the tip of his knife into the knots holding his legs, then his arms.

Cain, slowly, gingerly stretched his arms out, wincing at the rush of blood racing back into the muscles. He didn’t even try to stand knowing from experience he would just fall flat on his face, instead he sat stretching his legs out in front of him, massaging life back into them.

Deimos’ dressed himself, vest top and fatigues – left his boots off. He place Cain’s neatly folded clothes next time him, stealing a side long glance at him, at his still flushed face. He returned to his pile of ropes, coiling them deftly. Hearing Cain’s grunts of discomfort as he dressed, limbs tingling, rope burns fresh.

Finishing he sat shyly next to Cain, their backs pressed to a storage chest, handing him his cigarettes and the Pochine. Pressing his body as close as he could get away with, which was closer than he expected, Cain leaning his weight into Deimos’ shoulder slightly.

Cain took a swig and passed the bottle to Deimos, watching him swallow as he lit two cigarettes simultaneously then handing one to Deimos, inhaling on his own.

They sat like that, not speaking, smoking and drinking for another twenty minutes, until Cain suddenly stood, not looking at Deimos.

“Night myshonok.”  He said and left the room, the door humming closed behind him.


End file.
